


Disastrophe

by theshippingprince



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Although love-at-first-sight isn't real, Disastrophe is a combination of disaster and catastrophe, F/M, Gen, Happy late Birthday/Christmas/Birthday/Christmas gift Angie, It's going to be super festive, When I originally started writing this it was December, Which is exactly what being around The Doctor is like, i don't care
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2018-12-19 13:20:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11898579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theshippingprince/pseuds/theshippingprince
Summary: For John "The Doctor" Smith, every Christmas consisted of three things: his Ponds, overpriced egg-nog, and terribly unneccesary gifts. Nothing more, nothing less. Falling in love with the girl next door was going to throw everything out of balance.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bleuboxes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleuboxes/gifts).



“That,” said Amy, “is a terrible idea.”

Amelia Pond—or as she was now called, Amelia Williams—was standing over her friend with too much chin and not enough eyebrows, wearing a frown that was so familiar to him that it hardly had an affect anymore. She had, in one hand, a cup of cocoa that her husband—Rory Williams—had hastily made earlier in the afternoon. The man with the missing eyebrows suspected that the cocoa itself was ice cold now but, that Amy was drinking it out of pure love.

(If he had pointed that suspicion out to her, she would’ve dumped the cup of cold cocoa on his head and walked away. So, he didn’t say anything.)

Amy Pond was—between her endless legs, and her fiery red hair—a brilliant young woman. The man who was, at that moment, cowering on the floor in a pile of Christmas decorations, knew that to be a fact. She was the type of person who believed in the impossible, the type of person who fought for what she wanted. To put it simply, the man on the floor knew he was very lucky to call the redheaded woman his best friend.

However…

That didn’t mean he had to agree to everything she said. He was called a madman for a reason.

“It’s not a terrible idea,” said the man with no eyebrows, “it’s the best idea I’ve had all week!”

Amy growled something ferocious and quickly chugged the rest of her hot cocoa in one go. (He had been right! She would’ve been literally crying if it was hot!) She stomped over to the kitchen counter and he heard her slam the mug down on the table before whirled back over to him in a tornado of pure frustration and bright red hair.

“John Smith, if you would—for once in your life—listen to your best friend she would really appreciate it!” She waved her hands about, exasperatedly. “Honestly, John. If you listened to her for one second you’d realize how horribly dangerous this all is and you’d stop!”

At that particular moment, Rory was out of the apartment. The chances were that Rory would also not have been able to calm his wife down. In fact, he would’ve probably sided with the ginger, to stay out of harm’s reach. The squeamish man in question had whispered something to the man with the big chin about keeping Amy busy for the moment (it probably had something to do with buying a Christmas present) but all he seemed to be doing was making her more and more irritated. He wondered briefly, despite the situation, if Amy had even noticed Rory was gone.

“Speaking in third person is really not good for you, Pond.” The man who had been sitting in a heap on the ground quickly jumped to his feet and straightened his rather obnoxious-looking bowtie. “And don’t call me John. It’s just so utterly dull and we both know that I don’t like it.”

Amy never called him John Smith.

Well, that wasn’t really true. The redhead had called him John Smith when she had first met him, since he hadn’t exactly come up with the nickname ‘The Doctor’ at that time. She had continued to call him John Smith until he had convinced her that he was cool enough to be called ‘The Doctor’. (It had taken months, years even! He couldn’t remember the exact amount of time. The thought of time always seemed irrelevant when he was with his best friend.) Now, Amy only called him John when she wanted to piss him off, or when she was seriously angry with him. The Doctor figured this time her reasoning was the latter.

“I _can_ and I _will_ call you John Smith until you stop this nonsense!” She poked his cheek with her index finger, looking cross. He only grinned at her, he couldn’t help it. There was nothing she could say that would stop him. “Your plan is all horrible and dangerous! I will not allow it under my watch!”

“Horrible and dangerous are my middle names.” The Doctor winked at Amy and before she could do anything else to stop him, he grabbed the heap of Christmas decorations from the floor, and opened his front door.

Now, the first thing to know about The Doctor was that he lived on the second floor of a rather homely apartment building. It was this perfectly rectangular mass of dark blue paint and nearly rotting wood, two floors in total and only two suites to match. There was a thin staircase that ran from The Doctor’s front door to the ground, its steps slowly descending out of reach of his living room window. From the outside, it looked like the type of place that homeless people secretly hung out in. But on the inside, the inside was larger than life—or at least The Doctor’s upstairs half of it was. (Both Amy and The Doctor had never set foot in the downstairs portion, and nor did they plan to. In fact, they had come up with an inside joke that a ghost lived in the downstairs portion, haunting incredibly quietly. Sure, somebody obviously lived down there but they clearly weren’t active enough to the point where the redhead and her raggedy friend would see them outside on a regular basis.)

And so, with the feeling of Christmas pumping through his veins, The Doctor had come up with his plan to decorate. The Ponds’ (or Williams’, depending on who you spoke to) had broken into The Doctor’s apartment earlier in the day, and decorated every nook and cranny of the place. In fact, the man with no eyebrows had woken up to find that everything in his apartment was either green, red, or somehow sparkly. (Even his cutlery was sparkly!) Rory had said that it was Amy’s idea, and that he was only along for the ride. The Doctor couldn’t even get angry when he found glitter on his glasses, he was just happy to be amongst friends.

Although the interior of his apartment was wholly decorated to the maximum, the exterior did not match in the slightest. Amy had said that her reasoning was something along the lines of “nobody stares from outside into a party: if they want to celebrate, they’re already inside” which The Doctor thought was absolute nonsense. If one part of his apartment was to be decorated, it all had to be decorated. And that specifically included putting lights up on the _outside_ of his little apartment.

Of course, this in itself had a lot of issues. For starters, it was pouring rain outside. The temperature hadn’t dropped low enough that Christmas for it to snow, so instead it had rained. (Gotta love that London weather!) Any dirt had been turned into mud and Amy had told The Doctor that there had been warnings of flooding. Also—and considerably more terrifying—there was at least a twelve foot drop from The Doctor’s living room window to the ground below. There was a large gap between the rickety stairs and the side of the building that was just the perfect size to have a thin gangly man slip through.

But it didn’t matter to The Doctor because he was going to decorate his exterior living room window for the holidays if it killed him. He had made up his mind and nothing the beautiful redhead could say would change his mind.

So, LED lights in hand, he leaped out the front door in the incredibly ugly Christmas sweater that Rory had bought him as a joke (one that The Doctor had not entirely understood) and his worn lace up shoes, and begun to see his plan through. 

The Doctor could see Amy as she watched him from the living room window, her hands looking like they were going to pull her fiery locks right out of her scalp. Outside in the pouring rain, he was barely holding his own ground. The raggedy Doctor had climbed up onto the slippery railing with significant difficulty, and his shoes kept sliding slightly down every time he attempted to steady himself between the window and the slick metal. (His best friend looked like she was at the edge of her seat!)

His hair was completely slicked down to his forehead (how he managed to see was a mystery to both of them) and his tongue was poking out of his mouth in pure concentration. The lights, which he had plugged in before he had begun his decorating endeavor, were running perfectly along the ledge above his window, and not falling—which was a big plus! (Amy, who was watching her Doctor with extreme intensity, supposed she would’ve thought he was cute if she wasn’t already married and also wishing to punch the poor man in the face for being such an idiot.) However, to his own amusement, he was almost finished putting up the lights, and the multicolored bulbs were reflecting off of his upbeat smile.

And then Amy Pond blinked.

And The Doctor fell.

It was like one of those American Saturday morning cartoons. Except, he was the character falling instead of the omniscient viewer watching. First, there was Amy, looking at him through the window. And then there was a split second pause before all the air was pushed violently out of his lungs. He was only half aware of the thud that his body made onto the muddy ground. It took a moment for The Doctor to finally realize what had happened.

Oh, dear his… Everything hurt. He really should’ve listened to Amy.

The rain splattered on his face, his trousers, his shoes and that poor, poor sweater. His best friend was going to kill him for ruining her Christmas by falling and injuring himself. And then she was going to kill him again for muddying the sweater that her husband had bought him. And then she was going to kill him again for tracking mud into the house. And then she was going to kill him a fourth time for not listening to her even though she knew better most of the time and he was really being unreasonable and “honestly, Doctor, it’s Christmas eve, I want to spend quality time with my favorite people and you’re ruining it”.

With his eyes shut tightly as he lay on the ground, he could practically feel her anger pulsing upstairs.

_Here lies John Smith—formerly known as The Doctor_ , he thought to himself, _dead not because he fell from his second floor apartment to the ground below but because his friend killed him for ruining Christmas_. Rest in peace, you gangly limbed minx, you.

“You aren’t dead,” said a soft voice whispered into his ear, “are you?”

The Doctor would’ve jumped out of his skin if his whole body didn’t ache from the fall. The voice was soft and pleasant sounding. Clearly a woman’s, if he was going to really deduce anything, and she was somebody who he didn’t know. Or at the very least, someone that he didn’t spend enough time with to recognize the sound of her voice. The rain had stopped dripping directly onto his face, and he slowly raised a hand to wipe away some of the stray raindrops off his face before he opened his eyes and looked up at the woman crouched above him.

His vision was blurry but once it settled, his eyes nearly popped out of his head.

Standing above him was an beautiful young woman that he had never seen in his entire life.

The woman had dark brown hair that was slick with rain. That was one of the first things he noticed. Her hair was parted almost in the middle, and two clumps were tucked behind her ears, creating an exact line that fell, curving inwards at her collarbones. She had her dainty hand against her elegant forehead over her eyes to stop the water from disrupting her vision. And her eyes… Oh, he wasn’t sure if it was because he had fallen and somehow damaged his head but she had the most lovely brown eyes he had ever seen.

He certainly was losing his touch.

“Not yet,” The Doctor grinned up at her crazily, “although I will be soon.” 

Slowly, the man with the hair slicked to his forehead, pointed up to his apartment above her head and she turned to look. Above the both of them, the angry face of Amelia Pond, leered. She had grabbed an umbrella and what looked like a pair of The Doctor’s old shoes, and had made her way half way down the rickety stairs when she made eye contact with both the pretty brown haired woman and himself.

The redhead gave the woman a polite smile while shooting The Doctor one of the scariest faces he had ever seen in his short life.

“Is he alright?” said Amy, nearly out of breath from her trip down the stairs.

“I believe so.” Said the woman. “He’s talking but, I’m not a doctor.”

Despite her irritation with the situation, the redhead cracked a grin at her quiet joke. The girl had obviously never met her best friend before and she had _no idea_ how accurate Amy was was.

“I’m sure he’s fine.” Amy smiled her wickedly fake smile at the woman. “He’s been through a lot worse than falling from the second floor. If anything, he might’ve knocked his brain back into the correct place it’s supposed to be.” The two women chuckled quietly at the statement and The Doctor had an overwhelming, gut wrenching feeling that Amy would kill him as soon as he pulled himself back inside his apartment. Honestly, if he had just listened to Amy, none of this would’ve happened. A lot of what had happened in his life would've been vastly different if he had listened to his best friend. He could practically feel the anger boiling off of her as she spoke politely to the young woman. 

And that left him with one option.

The Doctor jumped to his feet in one false swoop. He swayed on the spot for a moment, holding his balance the best he could before he swiped the umbrella from Amy’s surprised hands and turned to look at the young woman. And ignoring Amy’s squeaks of dislike as she was pelted with rain, The Doctor realized the young woman was absolutely tiny! She barely reached his shoulders. Oh, how she had seemed like a giant when he was lying on the ground. “Miss…”

“Oswald.”

“Lovely.” The Doctor grinned down at the young woman. “Miss Oswald, would you care to accompany my dear friends The Ponds’ and I this evening? You may not know but we’re having a Christmas celebration.”

“I could tell.” Miss Oswald smiled up at him and it felt like a flower had bloomed within The Doctor’s heart.

“You could?” That was Amy, breaking the moment rather abruptly.

“You three aren’t exactly the most quiet people up there, you know. I spent the afternoon listening to clomp about cooking and decorating and whatnot.” She let out a light laugh at the looks of shock and guilt that covered both The Doctor and Amy’s faces. “But it’s alright, it was hilarious to listen to.”

“Oh thank goodness.” The Doctor pressed a hand to his chest in relief.

“And I’m not sure if I should intrude on your celebration.” Miss Oswald seemed a bit uncomfortable at the thought of barging in. “You two seem like you’re pretty good friends and—“

Amy’s eyebrows raised slightly. “It won’t just be the two of us. My husband is out right now but I think he might be bringing some other surprise guests.” The Doctor gasped audibly. “Did he not tell you, Doctor? I might’ve just spoiled the surprise.” She glared at her friend. “You’d better act surprised if he walks in the door with more people.”

“Yes ma’am.” The Doctor gave her a mock salute.

Miss Oswald stifled a laugh.

“Nonetheless, I wouldn't want to intrude.” She smiled politely and The Doctor could feel his death by Pond grow nearer and nearer by the second. He was losing the young woman’s interest.

“You wouldn’t be intruding. Are you doing anything tonight? Any family plans? Friend plans?” He could tell Amy was giving him a weird look out of the corner of his eye but he didn’t acknowledge it.

“No I—“

“Perfect.” The Doctor grinned at the young woman’s astounded face. “Feel free to make your way up to my lovely apartment whenever you see fit and join us in clomping about, Miss Oswald.”

The Doctor turned on his heel and proceeded to push Amy Pond back up the stairs against her will. She was wearing a pretentious smirk on her face that for some ungodly reason The Doctor could think of no comeback to help himself wipe it off her face.

“Wait!” Miss Oswald sounded flustered. “At least let me know what your names are!”

Pushing Amy out of view on the staircase, the man in the ugly Christmas sweater turned to look down at Miss Oswald with her now soaked hair. “The redhead is Amy Pond and you can call me The Doctor.”

“Well then, _The Doctor_ ,” Miss Oswald crossed her arms across her chest and looked up at him, smirking like there was no tomorrow, “ _you_ can call me Clara.”


	2. Chapter Two

“Oh, you’ve got to be joking,” moaned The Doctor through his WC’s door.

“You looked like you were handling it pretty well, I didn’t want to interrupt.” Amy was leaning against the door, on the verge of tears from laughing so hard. Her anger had faded considerably, replaced only by her thought of how hilarious his nearly full blown crush on the girl downstairs was. “You were talking to her in a, how do the teenagers these day say,” Amy could barely contain herself and her voice broke into pure laughter as she said the words, “a hashtag-smooth way.”

“Some best friend you are!” The Doctor cried through the door.

In his fall from the second floor of his building had ended up with mud being tucked into every crease of his sweater, every nook and cranny in his hair. He was absolutely filthy. And Amy had let him talk to Clara Oswald from the first floor looking like the absolute mess that he did. Oh how had he ended up with Amy Pond as a friend? How on earth had he managed to embarrass himself so badly in front of somebody he had only just met?

It had to be a world record.

Oh and she had been so pretty too. Why, thought The Doctor, do I have to be like this? Couldn’t he at least be given the opportunity to act smooth without looking like a bumbling idiot at the same time? Just once. He was only asking for one time. The Doctor sighed audibly and ran his fingers though his now wet hair, searching for any stray flecks of mud. He had rinsed his hair, face, hands and then his hair again but the amount of mud had yet to disappear. Perhaps it was because it was still smeared on his sweater and he hadn’t taken that off yet.

He took the sweater off and flung it into the tub. His button down shirt beneath was clean, for the most part, and that was good enough for him. Although, he wasn’t sure he could face Clara Oswald after the fiasco that had taken place about half an hour ago.

“I think I can hear her coming up the stairs, Doctor!” Amy’s muffled voice filtered through the door and he could practically hear her smiling. “Should I go let her in?”

“Amelia Pond! You are proving what they say about redheads!” The Doctor said shrilly, hastily trying to find the bowtie he was sure he had thrown haphazardly into one of the drawers earlier in the year. (He was sure that the reason he had left the darn thing in the bathroom had something to do with a spider but, he couldn’t quite remember.)

“What do you they say about redheads?” Amy’s voice was getting fainter and fainter as she made her way to his front door.

“They have no souls!”

There never had been a truer statement.

With one final look at his hair (weirdly wet, yet sticking directly upward), shirt (the back was giving him a duck tail), bowtie (he was pretending it was completely straight), and face (was that a smudge of dirt by his ear?), The Doctor turned his back on his appearance, hurrying out of the bathroom. Amelia had already opened the door and was talking, rather animatedly to—who he presumed to be—Clara Oswald on the other side.

“Are you going to invite her inside or are you going to make her freeze in the rain?” The Doctor asked as he made his way to the door.

The bowtie wearing man peaked around the door and sputtered into silence.

Standing on the other side of the door was none other than the lovely Miss Clara Oswald and the awkward Rory Williams. Rory was relatively dry, although his stringy hair clung to his forehead due to the sheer amount of the rain. The shoulders of his sweater were slightly darker than the rest of it and he looked a bit itchy and out of breath but, besides that, he looked fine. (Amy Pond hadn’t mauled him for leaving yet, which was quite the plus when it came to Rory Williams.) Clara Oswald, on the other hand, looked radiant. Her hair was completely dry, and it hung in the same loose inwards curl at her shoulders that made his heart flutter. It was really, really weird. She was wearing a huge, oversized ugly sweater—similar to the one that was currently lying in his bathtub—and it made him smile. Despite the ridiculous sweater, whole body seemed to glow, which probably had something to do with falling from his apartment to the ground. He was sure of it.

But what was even stranger than that was the fact that Rory had his thin arms wrapped around the tiny brunette, his face aglow with happiness. And even stranger than that was the fact that Amy Pond didn’t look like she was about to go and strangle him. The three of them seemed… Happy.

Rory glanced over at The Doctor, a bright grin etched into his features. It was almost unnerving for the gangly man to see that look directed towards himself, and not Amy for once. He raised his eyebrows.

“You never told me you knew Clara!” Rory gushed.

“We just met her, Rory. Not even an hour ago.” The Doctor responded.

“But that is incredible! It’s such a small world after all!” Rory grinned at Clara, who looked a little bit uncomfortable with the situation but, in just as much awe at Rory as he was with her. Despite the slippery ground, he wrapped his arms around Clara’s waist and spun her around before he put her back down and grimaced slightly, placing a hand on his lower back. “I really shouldn’t have done that.”

“You’ve really turned into an old man, Williams,” said Clara, who was slightly flushed at the situation. She turned towards Amy and offered an awkward grin, “sorry about that.”

“Don’t worry about it, Clara!” Amy grinned. “I remember hearing about you when Rory and I first met but, I never thought I’d get the chance to actually meet you. He thought you were the _coolest_ in college.” Rory stuttered, mumbling something that the rest of the group could not understand in the slightest. “It’s like you’re family already.”

“The _coolest_? I certainly was not the coolest.” She chuckled at Amy, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, a motion that The Doctor was quietly enamored at. Even though the ridiculousness of the situation, he couldn’t help himself. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that he had fallen and hit his head. He didn’t know. She glanced at Rory before adding, “You’ve given me some big shoes to fill there, Williams.”

“Yes _Williams_ , you’ve given her some big shoes to fill.” The Doctor grinned between Rory and Clara, opening the front door even further, “Unfortunately, I have never gotten the chance to hear about any of these mysterious Clara Oswald stories, why don’t the two of you come in so I can hear them first hand, hmm?”

“I’d like that,” said Clara, directing her glowing smile at The Doctor for the first time, “I’d like that quite a bit.”

———

“…And then Rory took a running leap right off the roof of the house, and in the most inelegant way possible, he face planted directly into the pool with the loudest belly-flop noise I have ever heard in my life!” Tears were streaming down Clara’s face as she retold the story, she had to keep pausing to either wipe them away or to laugh loudly. “Honestly, it belongs in the _Guinness Book of World Records_ for crying out loud!”

As it turned out, Clara had more embarrassing stories about Rory than The Doctor had hairs on his head. So many so that he had decided throughout the night to continually point out to her that she should’ve been his best man instead of him. Clara made sure to smile at him for the comment before continuing with a new story to turn Rory’s face an even brighter shade of pink.

Amy seemed to be having a great time with every word that came out of Clara Oswald’s mouth, and it was impossible to tell which of the two girls had cried more tears of laughter that night. 

“S-So…” said Amy after she had calmed down from her latest laugh attack, “that was the first time you met him? After he had jumped into a pool?”

“Yep!” Replied Clara, her cheeks still flushed. She was seated beside Rory, her legs twisted into a pretzel in front of her, the sleeves of her dress rolled up so she could lean her elbows on her knees as she retold tale after tale. “Everybody was standing so still, nobody else knew what to do so I had to jump in after him and make sure he was alright.”

“A-And obviously, I was alright.” Rory was trying to keep his composure but his face was so red, it would’ve been hard to tell the difference between it and a tomato.

“That was very brave of you, Clara.” The Doctor wrapped an arm around Amy, pulling her towards him. “Without you, Rory may not have made it and the ginger over here would’ve been stuck with me forever and ever and ever!”

“No I wouldn’t have been!” cried Amy, almost hysterical.

“Yes you would have! We would’ve had to share an apartment and had sixteen cats to take care of between the two of us.” The Doctor tightened his grip around his friend as she squirmed and laughed in response. With the stories of her husband from college, she had completely forgotten about flat out murdering The Doctor with her own two hands—a fact that the man himself was truly happy about. 

Okay, perhaps that was not the only reason he was happy but, that was besides the point. 

When Amy had told him to put alcohol into the egg nog earlier in the afternoon, (“To make the evening more fun” she had stated) he had put far more alcohol than egg nog into their egg nog, a fact that he had whispered to Clara briefly as he gave her a brief tour of his rickety apartment. She had nodded to him quietly and promised him that she wouldn’t drink too much. (“Who knows _how_ I’ll be able to get back home if I consume that much alcohol!”) If he had thought about it, again, he would’ve probably realized he hadn’t needed to give her a tour: they had the same apartment just on different floors. She had smirked at him after he had told her about the eggnog but, he could tell the amount of alcohol that he had put in the drink had lingered in her mind as it became clearer and clearer how tipsy both the Williams’s were becoming. (She kept raising her eyebrows at him whenever Amy laughed so hard she hiccuped.)

He had noticed how she had taken sips of her eggnog but, had never quite indulged herself like Amy or Rory had. Perhaps she was mirroring his lead of doing the same.

But, even with the alcohol, that didn’t change how weird it was that everyone got along. It wasn’t that he had expected any less of his closest friends (and his pretty neighbor) but, it just felt natural. Amy waved her arms about as she spoke, interested to know exactly what Rory had done in college before they had reunited. Her hair blooming in both volume and color over time. Clara smiled and laughed in return, her cheeks getting all rosy as she listened intently, interested in what Rory was like as a child. She was slowly coming further and further out of her shell, letting her head get thrown back as she cackled with laughter. And Rory Williams, the man himself, was the most red faced of them all, his hands plastered to his forehead in pure embarrassment.

It was as if he was spending Christmas with his family, people The Doctor had known all his life.

And it wasn’t just because of the bubbly feeling he got in his chest whenever Clara glanced away from Amy’s overeager words to look at him, or whenever her laughter rang out through his apartment. It was the fact that they were all together, under his roof, away from the rain and the stress of the holidays. Clara Oswald fit like a glove into their makeshift family. It was almost as if she was the piece that his trio seemed to be missing.

He wished the night could’ve ended there. Amy and Rory, falling asleep well before midnight, leaving Clara Oswald and The Doctor himself alone to make quiet conversation. He could tell little stories about Amy and Rory, like the one that they hated to tell people: the one where they had met. (It was far too embarrassing for Amy’s taste. She preferred to be seen as the “cool” one between her and her husband, and the story made her look anything but cool. She had fallen and cut her knee, after all. There was nothing that said that she could kick anybody’s ass about falling down at cutting her knee open.) And Clara could laugh at him for once, and not the ridiculous expressions echoing off of Amy’s brilliant features.

Perhaps they could’ve shared a glass or two of egg nog as they watched the rain fall and they could’ve wished each other a “Happy Christmas” and they could’ve started up the greatest friendship that The Doctor could’ve ever imagined. It could’ve even been something more than just a friendship too, blossoming into a rather fragrant flower of happiness.

But, that wasn’t what had happened.

The Doctor did not get a chance to drag his tipsy friends into his bedroom to sleep off their (rather self induced, if he said so himself) alcohol, or ridiculously confess to some sort of romantic attraction to the tiny brunette sitting on his couch across from him because the doorbell rang. 

The smile faded from Clara Oswald’s lips, replaced only with her concerned, raised eyebrows. The Doctor would’ve found it cute if he hadn’t been so jolted by the ringing of the doorbell.

“Oh yes, the surprise,” Rory had mumbled, grinning at Amy before getting to his feet and joining Amy on her side of the room, nearly knocking over several stacks of nicknacks The Doctor had lined up along the coffee table in the center of his living room. “I almost forgot. Care to get the door, Doctor?”

The surprise. 

Amy had said something about a surprise earlier in the evening but, he had thought it was going to be some extra present that they hadn’t needed to spend extra money on. And although the Williams’ thought they were being cute for going out of their way to do extra stuff for their Doctor, one day or another his guilty conscience was going to catch up with his wallet and they were going to end up owning his apartment and his entire life savings. He would end up homeless just to one up them for some ridiculous reason.

(Amy would probably end up yelling at him and there would be no egg nog to save him that time around. He would be dead in a ditch somewhere and not even the clever mind of Clara Oswald would be able to find him.)

The Doctor got to his feet and with long strides, he arrived at the door. And then it was open. And standing on the other side of the door was a young woman with unruly hair. She was soaked, nearly to the bone but, there seemed to be a fire in her eyes. The type of fire that he had not seen in a very long time, the type of fire that he had never seen in anybody else’s eyes but _hers_. She smirked up at him and he was reminded, rather suddenly, of how she looked nearly identical to the cheshire cat. Bundled up in a furry-looking coat that seemed more fashion based than rain-proof.

She squealed, rather loudly, before wrapping her arms around The Doctor’s neck, something he was severely unprepared for. Under his unsteady legs, he stumbled backwards, managing to trip over his own feet, before sending the both of them crashing to the ground.

There was a moment of silence. All The Doctor could hear was the dripping of rain from the still open door, and the heave of the young woman’s breath against his neck, her mane of endless curls tickling his nose and cutting off his vision entirely. Although he could not see, he could practically feel all three people in the living room freeze.

And then the young woman moved, so she could look down at him. She positioned her hands on either side of his head, her unruly curls tumbling down over one shoulder like a waterfall, splashing against both his flooring and his surprised face. Her cheeks were flushed from the cold and her hair had made its way into his mouth. Again. She grinned tucking a strand back behind her ear for only a moment before it popped out and fell back against her forehead.

“Hello _Sweetie_ ,” said River Song.

“R-River…” said The Doctor. “What on earth are you doing here?”


	3. Chapter Three

The Doctor thought that River Song was the closest thing to a hurricane that any person could be. She was loud, and rambunctious, and full of energy. Despite the rain, her hair still stuck up at all angles, and her voice was loud enough to wake the dead. Sure, she was beautiful, she had been beautiful when he met her, and she was still beautiful to that very day, but like a hurricane, she was something he preferred to admire from a distance.

Especially after what had happened between them.

Of course, the Pond’s—bless their drunken hearts—had not been thinking of his version of the facts, the Pond’s had been viewing the whole situation through their own spectacles (so to speak). The Doctor loved his friends, he really did. However, at that particular moment in time, lying in a puddle of River Song’s perfume, and stapled to the ground by her body, The Doctor was rather…

Dumbfounded.

That didn’t seem like the right word but, he felt as though his brain had been knocked loose by the fall.

He’d come back to that thought. Maybe.

“Why, I was invited, darling!” said River, finally releasing him somewhat by sitting upright, her legs daintily arranged on either side of his thighs. “Happy Christmas, pity about the weather!” she leaned down and pressed a lipstick smudged kiss to his cheek, before she got to her feet and stepped away from him.

The Doctor continued lying motionless on the floor, as both Amy and Rory got to their feet, grinning at their long lost friend. They exchanged some sort of heightened greeting, filled with drunken giggles and stumbling, but The Doctor couldn’t process any of it. He was too busy questioning, well, everything. 

Especially the last time he had laid eyes on the ambitious, brave hearted River Song. 

And that had been a bit of a miniature hurricane in itself.

They had been in the middle of an almost cinematic “rather romantic” (his words, not hers) evening. 

Candle-lit. Expensive cloth napkins. Heavy, wide-rimmed glasses full of deep, velvety red wine. Overly expensive dishes designed by a chef that had some sort of raspberry sauce drizzled on top of everything. The works. He had saved up for it, taken his time and placed money aside so he could take her to some fancy-shmancy restaurant that only played classical music, so he could ask her if she wanted to move in with him, and furthermore marry him. (She spent enough time at his apartment anyways, it wasn’t like everything was going to change suddenly. There would only be a weight on her finger, one he was sure she would not feel.)

And then she had said, nonchalantly: “I’m leaving.”

At first he had laughed, his head leaning back, a strand of hair dancing across his forehead. It was a loud piercing sound, an undignified sound, and he was sure the people sitting in the table next to theirs were giving him quite a stink eye.

“Headed to the moon?” he had said, making a reference to an elaborate space joke she had made earlier in the evening.

“No, John,” she had said, and she had taken his hands in her own across the table, her tone deathly serious, even using his first name for emphasis. “I mean it. I’m really leaving. I got offered a very intriguing archeology gig, and they want me to lead it.” She leaned across the table and took his hand. “I believe it’s best for us to stop this, all of this, I mean.”

“Oh,” he said, because there was nothing else he could say.

“I thought I’d let you know, so you didn’t think I just vanished into thin air!” She laughed, shrilly and over the top, “That certainly would’ve left you in more heartbreak than us just ending this now.”

“Right,” he said. His brain was at a loss, incapable of coming up with anything intelligent to say.

“Well, this is the end of an era, I suppose? The era of Smith and Song? Or, should it be Song and Smith! It’s a good thing, I think,” she smiled, and played with her food aimlessly as though the thought didn’t bother her in the slightest, “Time to move on with our lives!”

“Time to move on with our lives,” he had echoed.

And so, he had tried to move on with his life.

He hadn’t told Amy and Rory about the fiasco and how much it had broken him, as much as he adored the both of them. He hadn’t told either of them about the ring he had had in his pocket, and then had had to return with tearful eyes. He hadn’t wanted them to feel sorry for him, to come over in the late hours of the evening with a pint of ice-cream, and a sappy American movie, content to watch—and cry—until he felt better. No, they were living their own life, they had (as River had so eloquently put it) “moved on with their lives”.

Instead, he got busy. He had buried his nose in his work, writing whenever he got a chance, tinkering whenever he got a moment, traveling around the country whenever the mood hit him, when he needed inspiration. He backpacked across Europe—only impressively getting robbed twice. He told stories to children, to adults, to anyone who would listen, selling little trinkets from his stories to all ages. He explored everywhere he could, the sunny beaches in Monaco, to the cold winters in Greenland. Against everything he had stood for and done when he was with River; he started saving money. He published books, and carefully built his life back up from scratch. He felt more responsible, less uncomfortable about going to expensive restaurants in the middle of Italy, or Greece, or Peru, when the moment presented itself. He made a safe amount of money. Enough money to purchase apartments and rent them out, enough money to be safe as he could be. Yet, he continued to save save every penny, no matter how much he got. 

“It’s for the big one,” he would say, when he spent time in his rickety old apartment, on the lovely occasion when Amy Pond would pop over to sit on his kitchen counter and scowl at him, “a trip to every country in the whole world”.

Of course, now that he didn’t have River, he didn’t have anybody co-pilot his excessively expensive trip. He wasn’t about to ask Amelia Pond (with her incredibly long legs) and Rory Pond (with his angular nose) to come with him. Not that there was anything wrong with Amy’s legs, or Rory’s nose, they were just too happy. He didn’t want to change that. He also did not want to be a third wheel.

Although, the fact that River was in his apartment revealed one thing in particular. He really should have amped up his emotional pain after losing River. Perhaps then the Pond’s would have gotten the hint.

“I’m rather behind aren’t I,” River stated, jumping up and heading in the direction of the kitchen, “might as well try to catch up with you drunken teenagers!”

He watched as she disappeared into the kitchen, making excited statements about how not very much had changed in the kitchen, and that the careful paint was chipping on the walls, and she just had to repaint it all. Amy and Rory followed her into the kitchen, intent on getting more drinks. It was practically Christmas, and all of their rules were out the window.

The Doctor sighed, and placed a hand over his forehead. 

“Doctor, we can’t keep meeting like this, you know,” said Clara, soundlessly appearing at his side, “is this going to be a regular thing? Me, finding you sprawled out on the ground?”

He pulled his hands away from his face and smiled up at her.

“I believe I’ll do it one more time and then I’ll officially be finished,” he replied, “third time’s the charm, isn’t it?”

Clara laughed quietly and offered him a hand to stand up, which he did so unsteadily. She tucked a strand of her hair back behind her ear and smiled up at him. She was a little pink around her nose and cheeks area from the slight intoxication she was experiencing, but her eyes seemed to sparkle and glow. She broke his look, and turned towards the kitchen, where sounds of glasses and shouting emanated out of.

“This River lady,” Clara said, trying to look nonchalant but, instead appearing slightly standoffish, “she’s your girlfriend, I assume?”

“It’s a long story, a long complicated story. Perhaps not one for you drunken ears, Miss Oswald. I could leave a bad impression, and that’s the last thing I want. We’re neighbors for goodness sake!”

“I see.”

The Doctor swallowed, his cheeks flushing slightly pink before he added:

“However, I believe it’s important for you to know that she not my girlfriend. Not anymore.”

A quiet sigh of relief echoed around the room, and Clara’s shoulders relaxed, and she walked back over to the couch. It wasn’t as though she was jealous, was it? It wasn’t as though she was interested in him, was it? Perhaps she was just uncomfortable with the situation, and the fact that he had a pink smudge of lipstick on his face from a woman that she had never seen before. That could make anyone uncomfortable, couldn’t it? He joined her, spreading out the slight lumps before he sat down. (Even with his rather large amounts of money, there were certain pieces of his furniture, pieces of his life, that he couldn’t get rid of. Even if they were slightly lumpy and uncomfortable. It was his apartment, after all, and he could do whatever he wanted to do to it. Within good reason, that was.)

“I believe they’re going to take a bit of time in the kitchen drinking all of your alcohol, Doctor,” Clara said, turning her body so she was facing him, her legs tucked under herself in an inelegant way, as though she was home, “why don’t you tell me the River story?”

The Doctor smiled at her. It felt alright to let the emotions out of his system, especially in front of her. Despite their short time spent in each other’s presences, he felt as though he could trust her. If that was the help of an alcoholic beverage or two, or just the fact that he had finally come to the conclusion that he wasn’t in love with River Song, he couldn’t say but, he knew one thing for sure, he wanted to tell her. He wanted her to know. 

“You’ve convinced me, Clara. I met her when I was eighteen, just starting university...”

———

By the time that River Song and the Pond’s returned from their kitchen adventure, The Doctor was finishing up his story. His thigh was pressed against Clara’s knee, and he had his arm leaning against the back of the couch nearly wrapping around Clara in her entirety, completing the story—including the engagement ring part.

“John!” River’s voice cracked brightly, and she scrambled over to him, seating herself on the floor between Clara and The Doctor. “We should do one of these things in your apartment annually, have a big get together and force everyone to keep in touch with each other,” River pondered her comment for a moment before adding, “wasn’t I the one who suggested this to begin with?”

“Not exactly,” said The Doctor, “I came up with it on my own when I was traveling in Moscow,” he glanced over at Clara for a moment before adding, “a home isn’t a place, it’s the people who are your support system, and who will always be by your side no matter what. Christmas is about home and holidays and family, and the Pond’s are my family, so it doesn’t matter where we are.”

Rory tried to high-five Amy on the family element but, she wasn’t paying attention, so he deflated back down to his normal self.

The Doctor looked over at Clara, a kind smile on his face. “And Miss Oswald is a part of my family too.”

Clara froze for a moment, looking surprised as she met his eyes.

It was as though River hadn’t seen Clara up until this point. Her wide eyes glanced over at the brunette and she grinned brightly. Her hair seemed to puff a little further as she happily raised herself a little higher and hugged Clara tightly.

“Miss Oswald,” she stated as sincerely as she could, “thank you for taking care of my John. Who knows what he would’ve done without you. Now, if you’ll all excuse me,” she untangled herself from Clara’s limbs, and stood to her full height, “I must speak to John in private.”

Without waiting for a moment of recollection to cross his face, or even a word from Clara, River promptly pulled The Doctor up by his hand, and dragged him to the bathroom.

As soon as she pulled him inside the room, she slammed it loudly and pushed him back against the door. It was as though she had turned into a completely different person. There was a look in her eye, one that he used to be so familiar with. A seductive look, one filled with passion, lust, and so many other things that he would have been into when he had carried a little box with a ring inside it.

He tried to speak, to squirm out of her grasp but, she pressed her lips against his, pushing him even further against the bathroom door. He wriggled his hands and arms in an attempt to stop her from continuing but, it was to no avail. Her hands snuck up the front of his shirt, ice cold skin against his warm chest. He could only hiss in return, his vocal chords struck at a loss. She pressed kisses against his face, leaving a trail of bright pink across his face, making her way down to his neck. 

She broke away for a moment to mumble, “I’ve been waiting for this for so long, John. Oh, how I’ve missed this.”

She ripped the front of his shirt open, popping some of the buttons on his button-down shirt. He placed his hands against her shoulders and tried to move her away so he could get at least a little bit of leverage in the situation, and a chance to speak but, she had him pinned completely. She placed her hands on his chest, her nails slowly raking down his chest. He shivered.

“River,” he said, slightly out of breath.

He looked down at her, his face flushed, and smudged with lipstick. A fairly voluptuous amount of her cleavage could be seen from his perspective, something that he was intentionally not focusing on. Her pupils were wide, and she was smiling brightly, hungrily almost. He swallowed and looked away from her for a moment, trying to find his words. 

“What’s the matter, John? Cat got your tongue?” She paused for only a second longer, grinning mischievously, before going back at his neck again.

“River, please,” he said, slightly out of breath, “listen to me.”

“Fun first, Doctor,” she whispered against his neck, sending a shiver down his spine, “conversations later.”

It was then and only then that he snapped. He grabbed hold of River’s hands, prying them off his body, and held her a safe distance away from him. He paused, almost unsure if he truly wanted to say what he was planning on saying. She looked up at him, blinking daintily with curiously.

“I can’t do this with you anymore. You have to stop.”

River stopped fighting him and just looked up at him, her demeanor shifting as though a bucket of ice water had been dunked over her head. He looked past her, at an attempt to find his words. He looked at his reflection in the mirror. River had done a number on his hair, his shirt, his face, and part of his neck was already turning a light pink—capillaries broken from passion.

“What?” she asked.

“You’ve been gone. You’ve been gone for a very long period of time,” he started, feeling all his emotions about her bubble up to the surface, “I wanted to wait for you, I wanted us to be together forever, and I did, I waited for a very long time but, I didn’t get postcards, letters, emails even, I didn’t get anything. I didn’t know if you were still working or, if you had found someone else, and you really meant what you had said back in that restaurant, and I was just alone.”

He paused for a moment before, with a crack in his voice, he added:

“I was going to propose to you. That night, in the restaurant. I had never felt more in love, more alive, more happy. And then it was all over, because it was inconvenient for you. Because I didn’t fit into your grand scheme of things.”

The curly haired archeologist stepped backwards, away from his hands, and leaned against the sink. She looked down at her outfit, her shoes, her fingernails, as though she could tell he was not done. Her hair was oddly silhouetted against the florescent lights by his sink, and if anything it made her look even more beautiful than before. Sobered up in a matter of seconds by his confession, she looked smaller, and she knew just saying that she was sorry was not going to cut it. They had known each other for too long.

“I loved you but, moved on, River,” he met her eyes again, “You should too. I’m sorry that I wasn’t convenient enough, or just someone you could drag around from place to place. Perhaps, if we were different this all could have worked out for us but, that’s not the case this time. Life isn’t about to freeze when you want it to.”

River looked as though she wanted to say something. Pausing for only a moment, taking him in one last time as they stood so close together in reality but, still remained so desperately far away.

“I know,” she stated, “I loved you too, John. I think there will always be a part of me that loves you but, that time is over and done now. I just didn’t want to believe it was the end yet. I guess I just thought subconsciously that you’d be waiting here for me when I came back.”

The Doctor had thought that exact thought for quite some time. However, they weren’t meant to be. It hung in the air between them like a dense fog. The realization of it.

River cleared her throat, and stepped towards him, gently placing a hand on either of his arms, gently running them up and down. She got up on her toes and kissed his cheek. It wasn’t a passionate, lustful kiss, but a light one, pressed against his cheek with such elegance and grace, he could have sworn it was coming from an entirely different person.

“Thank you, Doctor,” said River, “for everything.”

“No,” he responded, “thank you, River. For everything.”

With that, he promptly began to button the buttons that were still intact on his shirt. He turned to exit the bathroom, paused, and looked back at River. She met his eyes for a moment, his dark brown meeting her light green-grey for one last time. She had told him it was the end of an era what seemed like forever ago, and he hadn’t accepted it. He hadn’t truly gotten over her, no amount of traveling could do that. It seemed that she hadn’t gotten over him either, at least until he had shoved the notion into the spotlight for both of them to see. Only looking her in the eyes, he was finally allowing himself to accept it all. He offered her a kind, polite smile. A goodbye. She gave him one back. 

They both knew what they had was over for good.

He exited the bathroom carefully, closing the door quietly behind him. He stood in the hallway for a beat, leaning against the bathroom door and letting the moment set in, before walking back into the living room. 

Amy and Rory were sprawled and tangled on the couch, laughing at something obscure and ridiculous. Tears streamed down Amy’s cheeks as laughed so hard no sound came out. Clara was on Rory’s other side, with an almost finished glass of wine in her hand, she was giggling like a schoolgirl towards whatever it was that the trio were looking at.

He watched them both for a moment, before clearing his throat loudly.

Rory glanced up and let out a huge raspberry of a snort, slapping part of the couch in utter hilarity. Amy squeaked loudly, beaming from ear to ear, before she let out a cat-call type whistle. However, Clara looked at him with muffled shock. Her lips filed out into a careful line, her jaw hardened, and she promptly looked away from him. He felt a pang of guilt. He probably looked like he had just had passionate sex in his bathroom, something that stabbed at his heart, perhaps even more than it had at hers.

Not sensing any discomfort in the situation, Amy asked: “Is this your new look, Doctor, because I can’t say that I like it very much.”

“Too hippy, wouldn’t you say?” replied Rory, holding back laughter.

“Much too hippy, much too disheveled. Somewhat like someone had a good time recently?”

The Doctor looked over at Clara, addressing her instead of his Pond’s: “Nothing happened in there, I promise.”

He heard the Pond’s make cooing noises, but he paid no attention to them. They were too out of their minds to truly be able to help in the situation. He could only look at Clara, only look at the nearly unreadable expression on her face. It was as though the alcohol had evaporated itself out of his system, and everything hurt in his heart. He felt terribly awake, terribly conscious about his surroundings, terribly focused on the near expressionless face Clara Oswald was putting on. It was one of bravery, putting up a hard cold front against anyone that could hurt her. However, it was also one of hurt surprise. They had just been getting to know each other, and he had ruined it all by getting dragged off by River Song into his very own bathroom.

So much for fresh starts and meeting beautiful, interesting, new people in creative ways.

He would just be stuck third wheeling the Pond’s until the end of time.

Clara Oswald opened her mouth as if to say something, but then closed it again. She daintily put down her wine glass, choosing instead to clasp her hands tightly in her lap until her knuckles turned white. He watched her carefully, his shoulders slumping forward, feet pointed inwards at each other, his bowtie loose around his neck, buttons missing from his shirt. She looked at him earnestly, she looked at him for only a moment, but it was as though he could hear her brain whirring and ticking, trying to figure out what to do next. 

And then the moment was over, and Clara Oswald got to her feet. She smiled politely at the Pond’s—squeezing Amy’s shoulder, and ruffling Rory’s hair—and stepped over the two of them with a surprising amount of elegance. She walked over to his front door, and put on her shoes, slipping the dainty heels over her feet. He followed her to the door, and stood in front of it, not letting her leave. 

“Clara,” he started.

“Save it, Doctor,” she replied, her voice slightly snappy, not bothering to look up and meet his eyes, “I’m going to cut this all short. I thought one thing was happening and it wasn’t. It’s my fault. I don’t want to argue with you, I don’t want to fight with someone I legitimately just met, so I am going to leave now. If you’d please move.”

“Clara, I promise you,” he started again.

“Doctor, or John, or whatever your name is,” she looked up at him for only a moment, and he could see her eyes were slowly filling with tears, “I hope you have a happy Christmas.”

Something lodged in his throat, and he couldn’t get another word out. He wanted to tell her that she should stay, that everything wasn’t what it looked like, that he really, really, really did like her. More than was normal to like someone that he had just met. That he felt as though she was already part of his makeshift family. That he wanted to cook breakfast for her, and bring it down to her apartment in the mornings, and borrow her favorite books late at night to see how her brain ticked, and see the differences in how she decorated her apartment, versus how he decorated his own. But, alas he could only step aside and let her pass into the dreary, rainy darkness of their shared staircase, and eventual street. He could only let her pass as the sobering guilt and dread washed over him at the idea that he may never get a chance to redeem himself. He could only let her pass, and watch from the glowing staircase as she walked further and further away until she was swallowed up into the darkness of that Christmas night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry Angie I'm taking forever to write this. But I will continue to write this because it is for you, and knowing that it is for you is the best type of reward. <3

**Author's Note:**

> Happy late birthday/christmas/birthday/christmas gift, Angie! This has been in the works for far, far too long and I am so sorry. To everybody else, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, more will be up as soon! Please feel free to let me know what you think!


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